Mr Puppet
by Akki Lira
Summary: The musings of a sad Marionette the second time five children die. Just a drabble-ish oneshot to get me back into writing.


**A/N: **Yo 'sup my readers. Not a lot of you will know this but I just went through a really personal hard time the last few months and am still mentally recovering, so I'm trying to get myself out of my recent slump.

I'm gonna write some oneshots and stuff before getting back to _All For All _and _Textual_, since I want to be at the top of my game for those. And I thought, since the Marionette has quickly become my favourite character (sorry Foxy), I'd write a bit about him.

**Warnings**: Sentient animatronics, dead people, an OC child, la la

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

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><p>"<em>Thank you Mr. Puppet… You always make me feel better!"<em>

He could remember it like it was only yesterday. The smiling faces of his beloved children, some expecting visits from the tooth fairy soon, entering his sight as he rose from the box, holding some special prize for the child in front of him. The sound of his music box playing its tune while children laughed and played, some thanking him for his gifts. And when he sank back down, curling up in his box, readying the next gift, the sound of the children laughing and playing as they ran out to the party room.

"_Mr. Puppet, why is no one here?"_

The image of a small redhead child flitted through his mind, though after so many years he couldn't recall her name. He remembered, though, her bright gold dress and her red pigtails, and the tears falling from her brown eyes. She was a child who often came, he remembered, and just watched him give gifts- and once when the Prize Corner was closed because of a maintenance problem. She had snuck in, possibly looking for a place to cry alone- but why was she crying? He couldn't remember….

"_Mr. Puppet, daddy tells me not to let others know I'm sad, 'cause being sad is being weak and showing you're weak is bad… but Mr. Puppet, I don't get it. If no one knows you're sad who will make you happy?"_

Such an interesting question the child had posed. He made no response, of course- as far as the humans knew, he was just a marionette. He had no response he could give even if he could. After all, what _is_ sadness? What _is_ anger? He had seen these emotions, but never once had he felt anything opposing joy.

His mind wandered to the topic of human emotions, away from the image and echoes of the little girl. Love, an extreme form of joy, he had always thought, an emotion unattainable to non-humans. Never had he known it could also be a source of pain.

"_Marionette, somethin' doesn't feel right tonight. I… Chica and Bonnie are tellin' me I'm just bein' paranoid."_

Something wrong? Oh yes, something was definitely wrong that night. But he didn't want to remember. It was painful.

Pain. That was another feeling he shouldn't have known.

Pain. Sadness. Remorse, guilt, love, anger….

Yes, they all found they could feel these things. But it took the destruction of five innocent lives to find out.

He just wanted to go back to the days when all he knew was joy, when children laughed and smiled. Back in the old restaurant, with his old friends still in use instead of used for spare parts. The times when they could smile and laugh together the way the Toys, as they had been dubbed, did.

Back when love wasn't an option.

"_No…"_

_The Marionette's eyes were wide- was this possible, he wondered briefly, considering his porcelain mask- as he stared at the scene in front of him. Five children lay out or slumped against the wall in puddles of blood. Their faces reflected the fear they felt in their last moments._

"_No…"_

_Savethemsavethemsavethemsavethem-_

_The mantra was suddenly pulsing through his mind. Maybe they weren't dead at all, he thought. Maybe they were just sleep. They spilled strawberry jam. Yes, that was it._

_Noitisnot._

_Yes. _

_He spotted his red-haired child, the one that visited him earlier that day. She was sad when he last saw her._

_They must be sad. It was his job to cheer them up._

_He would wake them._

_**He would save them.**_

Marionette's eyes suddenly lit up in the dark. The music box was not playing, but he didn't want to remember what he did to those children. What he did to his own friends. How _understanding_ they were when he confessed to them the whereabouts of their beloved children, his _desperation_ to _savethemsavethemsavethem-_

And the absolute anger they each felt the next day when their own night guard, the night guard whom they had _trusted_ to _protect them all_ was arrested. His grin, his _laughter_ as he was lead out. All the Marionette could feel at this was sudden, flaring _anger_, because how could he deny the children's deaths when there was so much proof? And someone they had trusted… it horrified him.

All of them.

No, the night guards weren't to be trusted, they all decided. _Never again_ will one harm another of their beloved children…

But… one did.

The normal night guard was gone- from what he heard, the Mangle got him while on dayshift. They got a replacement for the night.

_It was him._

Once again their restaurant was swarmed with police. Another murder happened. Using that gold suit. _Again._

He felt like such a failure. His old friends did too.

And now, his new friends understood their pain. In the silent darkness, he could hear Chick's mechanical sobs and Fred and Bon's useless attempts to lighten the mood. Their own voice boxes were crackling with static.

Mangle got the wrong guy. The _management_ _hired_ the wrong guy. Now _five more kids _were dead, and all of them were suffering for it.

Marionette lowly raised his box lid and peeked out into the darkness. There were no cameras on tonight, no calming music, no stalking the night guard.

They had failed.

"_Mr. Puppet, I love all of you! This is my favouritest place in the whole wide world!"_

They had learned.


End file.
